


Green Eyes

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 14:21:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17624033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: https://anjenue.livejournal.com/184978.html





	Green Eyes

Harry was furious.

It had been a long time since he'd felt this angry, felt his blood boiling beneath his skin and his fingernails digging into his palms and his teeth clenched together so tightly he thought his jaw might snap. In fact, he hadn't even felt quite this furious when he'd faced down Voldemort not six months earlier, eyes and wand flashing green as he'd gotten rid of the miserable old fucker once and for all. He'd seen red then, blood pounding behind his eyeballs and a scream tearing from his throat, but that feeling of rage, of revenge, of morbid satisfaction, was nothing to this.

Oh, he was seeing red again. Namely, the red of Susan Bones' hair as she flipped it flirtatiously over one bare, white shoulder, a shoulder which was currently being…being fondled by an elegant, long-fingered hand.

A hand belonging to none other than that bloody ponce, Draco Malfoy.

Harry narrowed his eyes, growling low in his throat as he watched that smirking mouth lower to a gold-adorned throat, watched those pouting lips move to whisper something into the Hufflepuff's ear, watched her toss her head back just so and laugh, too loudly and too long, at whatever that git had said.

Harry wanted to punch that smug mouth in so badly, he could taste it.

He heard a snort from beside him but didn't turn, familiar enough with the tall form to recognise the other speaker just from his peripheral vision. Ron shook his head, shaggy red hair swishing about his face, and tossed back his glass of rum as if the sight they were witnessing had left a bad taste in his mouth. "Bloody creepy Malfoy," he grumbled, slamming his glass down onto the table. "Hasn't changed one sodding bit; the pointed little ferret still acts like he owns the school, even though there's no way Daddy could afford it anymore, what with all the money he's shelling out to keep the Ministry at bay."

Harry snarled in lieu of a response, too focussed on the way the other boy brushed his hand teasingly across Susan's arm before sauntering away, turning his head to shoot a saucy wink at the giggling girl before disappearing into the writhing mass of bodies between this side of the room and the makeshift bar. 

Since the war had ended, the upper year students had begun throwing parties every weekend, first to celebrate their triumph, then their life, and now, their friendship, their normality, their existence. They'd begun as intra-house affairs, the Gryffindors celebrating with loud music and butterbeer and lots and lots of chocolate, but it hadn't seemed right to exclude people who had been just as important (if not more so) over those harrowing weeks, those people who had fought and killed and been injured and survived just the same as them, especially when they were celebrating too, alone within their house boundaries, and feeling equally bereft. So one week, Parvati, much-subdued Parvati after her sister's death, had invited Ernie Macmillan to come and join in the festivities, and that had been the start of it. Others had followed: Luna, Terry, Hannah, Lisa, then the rest of the Hufflepuffs, the smallest of the houses now after a particularly vicious attack had taken out half the group while they'd been steadfastly trying to protect each other. Then finally, inevitably, someone had invited one of the Slytherins -- Daphne Greengrass. And of course, when one serpent was invited in, the whole nest turned up.

There'd been a fair amount of hostility at first, especially between Ron and Malfoy, but none of the Slytherins remaining had fought for the Death Eaters, and really, a lot of them had lost just as much as the rest of the students, if not more. It had been little, logical, Muggle-born Su Li, in fact, who had quite calmly stated that the Slytherins had as much right to join in as everyone else, since they offered up their Common Room just as readily as the other three houses and were polite and agreeable (well, as agreeable as Slytherins could be) and never failed to supply refreshments as was the agreement, and that there was no point arguing about it.

Surprisingly, nobody had argued after that. Not even Malfoy.

Harry growled again, scanning the dance floor disinterestedly as he searched for the infuriating git, and beside him, Ron made a noise of disapproval.

"Harry, mate," he said, laying a hand on Harry's arm, "if he's hacking you off so much, go track him down and give him a sound beating. It's no less than the prick deserves, after all."

As Ron spoke, Harry caught sight of the prick himself, leaning up against the wall and chatting...no, consorting with Nott, silver hair mingling with dark as they bent their heads together, and Harry decided that a beating sounded like a very, very good idea indeed. 

"Right," he said, slamming his own still-full glass down onto the table. "Think I will. See you later, Ron."

"Give him one from me too," Ron called after him, but he barely heard. The room had narrowed down to him and Malfoy – Malfoy, who was now tracing a finger down the centre of Nott's bared chest, tangling the tip in sparse dark curls – and all Harry could think about was putting the bloody bastard through the floor with his bare hands. 

"Harry!" Harry felt a hand on his arm, and he looked over, annoyed, only to see Seamus, shirtless and glistening with sweat, pupils quite dilated, and his best come hither smirk in place. "Come and dance with me."

"Not now, Seamus," Harry answered, shrugging off the firm hand. "I have something I have to do first."

Seamus pouted, and Harry found himself studying the reddened, swollen curve of lip. Seamus looked like he'd been snogging someone quite thoroughly, and Harry was sure if he looked around, Dean would be sporting a matching red mouth. "Pity," he mourned, trailing his fingers down Harry's arm. "I hope it's worth it; you don't know what you're missing."

Yes I do, Harry thought as he pulled his arm away. I have to hear it every night, after all. He watched for a moment as Seamus shrugged and disappeared back into the teeming knot of bodies, and then turned back toward his destination...

...only to find that Malfoy had once again disappeared.

Shit bloody buggering fuck.

His hands clenched tighter against his sides as he looked around the darkened room yet again, trying to make out faces by flashing, coloured lights, and, failing that, looking for that unmistakable hair, the only hair that would reflect the lights like a prism. This time, it didn't take him long to track the other boy down, and he gritted his teeth painfully as he noticed that now Malfoy was doing quite a bit more than consorting, this time with a boy Harry thought might be Blaise Zabini. Zabini had Malfoy pressed up against the wall, face buried in that infuriating curve of pale throat, and Malfoy's head was tipped back, lips parted and eyes shut and hands fisted in hair almost as dark and shaggy as Harry's, and Harry was so furious, he thought he was going to explode.

He closed the distance in five long strides, grabbing Malfoy's hair and thrilling when baleful gray eyes came open and fixed onto his face. "Malfoy," he spat, tightening his fingers for emphasis, "I need to talk to you."

"Fuck off, Potter," Zabini said languidly, hand curved around Malfoy's waist and hips moving in a steady writhe against Malfoy's thigh, and Harry fought down the urge to strangle the infuriating boy, because it was Malfoy he wanted to hurt right now, not Zabini. 

"Oh, hello, Potter," Malfoy drawled, then gasped, tipping his head up a bit as Harry's hand tightened again, forcing him to move with it or risk losing hair. "C...can't you see that I'm busy?"

"Now, Malfoy," Harry ground out, feeling his body shake with repressed anger. Zabini looked like he was going to hex Harry for a moment, but Harry just glared, because nobody could intimidate him after everything he'd been through, and everyone knew it, knew better than to mess with him when he was like this, and Zabini was no different, fingering the handle of his wand but making no forward movements, looking to Malfoy for his next move.

Typical, Harry thought bitterly; still relying on bloody Malfoy to see them through everything, but he couldn't help feeling some small amount of satisfaction when Malfoy gave the slightest nod, and Zabini relaxed, stowing his wand, although still holding himself stiffly, wary gaze in place.

"All right, Potter," Malfoy said after a long moment. "You want to talk to me? Fine. Let's go." He reached up, grasping Harry's wrist, and Harry held on for a moment more, just to be contrary, before relaxing his fingers and letting his hand drop. Without a word, Malfoy turned and threaded his way through the crowd, which parted for him immediately, and that simple fact made Harry even angrier as he stood fuming for a moment before clenching his hands into fists again and stomping after him.

Malfoy led them through the labyrinthine hallway, past the dormitories, and to a blank stone wall, then leaned forward and whispered something before stepping back and watching as the wall slid open, revealing a single room -- the Head Boy's room -- done all in Slytherin colours and absolutely immaculate. "After you, Potter," he drawled, and Harry glared at him before shoving past and into the room, waiting for Malfoy to follow at his own languorous pace. 

The instant the wall slid shut behind them, Harry pounced, grabbing Malfoy's wrists and slamming the smaller boy up against the wall, hands pinned over his head and hips shoved against the stone. "What the fuck are you playing at, Draco?" he snarled, baring his teeth as he leaned in close, close enough to smell firewhiskey and sweat and unfamiliar cologne that could be Zabini's or could belong to someone else entirely, but certainly wasn't Draco's because God knew he was more than familiar with every little nuance of Draco's scent by now.

Draco stared back at him, silver eyes oddly calm although his face was slightly paler than usual, and smirked. "I've no idea what you're talking about, Potter," he purred unconcernedly.

Wrong answer.

Harry growled, tightening his grip enough that he knew Draco would have bruises on his wrists, chest flattened against chest and hips driving Draco back into the unforgiving wall, thrilling at the sharp exhale against his mouth, the startled look on Draco's face, and the unmistakable erection pressing against his thigh.

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about, Malfoy, so don't play innocent with me. We both know that you're anything but."

"Temper, temper, Potter," Malfoy drawled, although Harry could tell he was nervous, could feel the slight tremble of muscle beneath his palms, the hitch of breath against his chest, the way Malfoy's cock got even harder between them. "If you recall, this was your idea."

Harry stared at him, still surprised, even after all these months, at how Draco could look so calm even when slammed up against a wall with nowhere to go, completely at Harry's mercy and yet somehow, somehow in control of the situation anyhow, and that just pissed Harry off more, made him want to wipe that smug little smirk off the other boy's face, to lick and suck and bite and scratch and thrust and fuck until Draco was screaming. "My idea?" he repeated angrily. "Where do you get off saying that your...your...whoring yourself was my idea?"

That quickly, the bored expression hardened, silver eyes turning steely in a suddenly livid face, and Draco shoved back, not hard enough to dislodge Harry, not at all, but hard enough so Harry knew he'd at least gotten his message through. "How dare you, Potter?" Draco spat, eyes flashing furiously. "You tell me that it's nothing, that we're not friends, that you don't want to tell your precious little Gryffindors that you're fucking Draco Malfoy, the poster boy for the Death Eaters who wasn't even good enough to go through with that, and yet you expect some sort of loyalty?" A harsh, mirthless laugh. "Fuck, Potter, and here I thought we'd finally gotten past all the unreasonable demands."

Harry felt something in his chest twist painfully, a heated dagger, because he knew Draco was right, knew he wasn't being fair, but he didn't care, because the mere sight of Draco touching someone else, flirting with someone else, kissing someone else had him ready to commit murder all over again, and there was no fucking way he was ever letting anything like that happen again. Draco was his, and he didn't know how he'd ever thought he could pretend that wasn't the case. 

"No," he snarled, dropping his voice to a low rumble. "We haven't. Because you are mine, Malfoy, whether you like it or not, and I say...that nobody..." He transferred Draco's wrists to one hand, pinning them over his head hard and feeling Draco wince against him. "...is allowed..." His other hand wove into Draco's hair, grasping the strands, and jerking his head suddenly to the side, prompting a strangled moan. "...to touch you."

With that, he dove forward, sealing his mouth over the pulsing vein of Draco's throat, teeth sinking into the flesh so hard he thought he was going to break skin, sucking at that spot, wanting, needing to leave a mark so everyone, everyone would know that Draco was his and that they had better keep their hands off if they valued their lives. He felt more than heard Draco groan, wrists twisting in his grasp, hips bucking forward, head slamming back against the wall and tugging against the fingers twined in his hair, but all Harry could think was mine mine mine, and he growled again, dropping both his hands just long enough to tear Draco's shirt open, careless of the buttons ripping from their holes and flying through the air, needing only to touch and claim and mark and own, grabbing Draco's wrists again and pinning his hands next to his head, tearing his mouth from Draco's throat, pulling back to stare into that flushed, wide-eyed face with a feral grin. 

"Mine," he rasped, eyes flicking over the livid bruise on Draco's throat, and felt his cock throb hard as Draco let out a low, rough moan, head falling back against the wall. 

"Harry," he gasped, shuddering, and Harry took that as his cue, dragging his mouth down over Draco's neck, his chest, biting down hard on a nipple and groaning as he felt Draco jerk against him, then dragging his teeth back up over trembling flesh as he dropped one of Draco's wrists and reached between them, tearing open the fastenings of Draco's trousers first and shoving them down past his hips before reaching for his own, opening the flies and dragging his aching cock out, not even bothering with undressing. 

"You are mine," Harry snarled again, slamming his hips forward so that their cocks slid against each other and gasping as Draco arched against him, wantonly, seeking more, because Harry wanted more too, needed more, and then Draco was kicking his shoes off and fumbling out of his trousers and Harry groaned, sliding his hands down to Draco's armpits and lifting him bodily off the ground until their faces were flush with each other, until the head of his cock was pressed against Draco's eager, grasping hole, and Draco shuddered, wrapping bare legs around Harry's clothed hips, fingernails clawing at Harry's arms and head lolling off to the side as he hissed "Please, Harry, please fuck me," and Harry barely had the presence of mind to mutter a lubricating spell against Draco's mouth before he was slamming forward, burying himself in the other boy's body in one smooth, forceful, possessive thrust.

Draco howled, clutching at Harry's arms for dear life, heels digging into the small of Harry's back and head tilted back, skin already slippery with sweat where it slid against Harry's clothed chest, his arms, his hips, and Harry sucked in a sharp breath, driving Draco back against hard stone as he began to move, slowly at first, then gradually faster and faster, hips pistoning forward and up as he fucked Draco mercilessly into the wall, lapping up every grunt and moan and gasp and desperate flex of toes against his back and dig of fingernails into his arms and twist of forehead against his shoulder, the muscles in his legs screaming as he drove forward again and again, tongue flickering out to drag along the curve of Draco's neck, tasting salt and sweat and sex clinging to the flushed, dewy skin. He could feel Draco tensing against him, feel thighs clamping around his waist, feel the violent hitch of breath and strangled moans as Draco tried desperately to hold back, but Harry didn't want him to, wanted to feel Draco fly apart against him, because of him, because Harry made him, and so he shoved Draco's head to the side with his cheek and bit down on the already-purpled bruise on his throat. That did it; with a hoarse, strangled shout, Draco seized, fingernails sinking into Harry's arms hard enough to draw blood, heels digging desperately into the curve of Harry's arse, head thrown back and spine arched so hard Harry thought it might snap as he shook and clenched and came in long, hard, sticky pulses over his stomach and Harry's shirt, and the feel of that tight hole squeezing around his cock was too much, too much, and Harry followed with a gasped, choked cry, somewhere between Draco and love and mine.

Harry panted against Draco's throat as he struggled to blink the haze of his orgasm out of his already-blurry eyes, vaguely aware of Draco clinging to him, limpet-like, slight body trembling with aftershocks. Tired, sated, and successful, Harry flicked out his tongue, swiping it over the violent mark on Draco's throat, and Draco shuddered hard, dropping his forehead to Harry's shoulder with a "Holy fuck, Harry." 

Harry nodded, letting out a sharp, hysterical chuckle as he wound his arms around Draco's back, holding the other boy close and relaxing as Draco returned the attention, feeling the tension and anger and jealousy and fear dissipating from his body with every wet kiss Draco pressed to his throat, every stroke of smooth hand over his back, every whimper of stupid Gryffindor and unbelievable and don't know what took you so long and yours yours always yours, feeling his legs give way and sending them both tumbling to the (mercifully) carpeted floor in a tangle of limbs and sprawl of shaking, sweaty bodies.

After a long silence, in which Harry clutched Draco close and trembled, and Draco buried his face in Harry's neck, breathing softly against the skin, Harry finally moved, propping himself up on one elbow and looking at the other boy. "I didn't...hurt you too badly, did I?" he murmured, feeling a stab of misgiving.

Draco stared at him blankly, and then burst into laughter. "Idiot Gryffindor," he snorted, shaking his head. "I won't be able to walk properly for a week, and I think you may have punctured my jugular, but other than that, I'm just perfect."

"Good," Harry said, raising a hand to smooth his palm over Draco's cheek, then resting two fingers atop the bruise and pressing lightly, a frisson of pleasure twisting his spine at Draco's hiss and flutter of eyelids. 

"You, Potter," Draco said after another moment, catching his hand, "are absolutely incorrigible. You're an utter mess, you couldn't even bother to take off your clothes, let alone make it to the bed like civilised people, you tried to maul me like some giant sub-equatorial jungle cat, and you--"

Harry shook his head, twisting his fingers around Draco's and shutting him up rather effectively with a forceful, possessive kiss, thrilling as he felt Draco arch into him with a soft, pleased moan, swollen lips parting beneath his with only the slightest sigh. 

"And I what?" Harry murmured when he finally let Draco up for air, just repressing a smirk at the dazed, blurry expression on the other boy's face.

"...what was I saying?" Draco said faintly, and Harry grinned. 

"You were saying that we should get up and go back to the party before people start thinking we've killed each other and come looking," Harry said, rolling off of Draco and pushing up off the floor, clambering to his feet and extracting his wand for a cleaning charm, first over his clothes, then over Draco's sticky skin as he bent to help the other boy to his feet, catching him as he swayed unsteadily. 

"...yes, good idea," Draco murmured, still looking a bit shell-shocked, and Harry couldn't help swatting his arse gently as he stumbled off toward the wardrobe in search of an outfit that hadn't been destroyed by Harry's desperate pawing.

Twenty minutes later, Draco was dressed and his hair presentable, and Harry dragged him out of the room before he could protest the huge, crimson mark on his throat. It appeared they had been just in time, though, as they no sooner stepped foot in the common room than they were accosted by a small group of people, Slytherins and Gryffindors alike, led by Zabini, who was looking quite irate as he tapped his foot impatiently on the floor.

"Malfoy," he grumbled, "I was starting to think he had k--turned you into a vampire." He blinked, staring unabashedly at Draco's neck, and Draco flushed, tugging at his collar and turning away. 

"Shut up, Zabini," he muttered, looking thoroughly embarrassed, but Harry smirked, winding his arm around Draco's waist and pulling him close. "No vampiric threat here," he said lazily, "but I do think it's a nice accessory, don't you?" He leaned forward, sliding his tongue over the mark, vaguely hearing a choking sound from behind him, and smiled. "Close your mouth, Ron," he murmured without looking, sliding his fingers into Draco's hair and tilting his head up.

He missed the thudding sound of an unconscious body hitting the floor, missed the glint of gold as Dean dropped a Galleon into a smirking Seamus' hand, missed the sly look that Nott and Zabini shared before discreetly slipping out from the middle of the small crowd. He was too busy looking at the surprise in Draco's eyes, the slight smile curving his lips, as he leaned forward to speak against his mouth.

"Mine," he whispered, and kissed him.


End file.
